Summerland

Last night at dinner someone asked me, “What do want to do with your life, Benjamin?” I paused a beat and answered, “Rock.” But then, more honestly, answered, “Yunno’, I don’t really know. I’m in sort of a transitional mode.”

Endorsing the premise that “No matter where you go, there you are,” I find myself in the same head I’ve been in over the last few weeks, no matter where I go: What am I doing with myself? Am I a singer/songwriter? A journalist? A screenwriter? What am I going to do with my life? ‘Cuz “I wanna’ rock” — even if it’s true — is wearing a little thin.

All that existential woe nothwithstanding, I can’t complain. I am hanging out pretty comfortably in Los Angeles. I have been all over the map in thhe last six weeks or so (Nantucket, Iowa, Boston, Chapel Hill, etc etc). I found a signed copy of Michael Chabon’s new book (appropriately entitled “Summerland”) in a book store last night. I woke up this morning and ran along the Pacific. And I’m headed to McCabe’s Guitars to buy a tuner after work.

So, the short term’s all good. It’s the Big Picture’s that’s go me stumped.